


Soup In Progress

by Zeriku



Series: The Long Journey To Make The Best Chicken Soup [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Also there's a poorly described fire, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, Subtle flirting, also the title is very weird, among other things hahah, please forgive my weird titling conventions, so slow that you might start burning me because of its slowness, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeriku/pseuds/Zeriku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil draws up to his full height, then, staring down at Bard like how he usually does. “This is no way to talk to a CE—“</p>
<p>His words immediately meet a swift death in his throat when Bard closes in, eyes slightly narrowed and grin absent. The blond had a good few inches over this man, yet he fights <em>hard</em> not to cower when Bard speaks.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you wouldn’t be too happy if word gets out that the leader of a globally renowned company nearly set death upon himself and his heir with the aid of a stove.” Bard’s voice is low and quiet, and it most certainly does <em>not</em> make Thranduil want to shiver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soup In Progress

**Author's Note:**

> Can also be called "thrandy needs to learn how to work a stove" or "thrandy don't leave the fire unattended".
> 
> Anyway. First fic at this fandom because this pairing. This. Pairing. |8
> 
> Prompt is from [this Tumblr post](http://essiefied.tumblr.com/post/108501761514/au-with-firefighter-bard-and)! May have a continuation (who am I kidding, I've taken notes on future chapters already lm a o). Thanks in advance for reading!

He’s cooking— or, rather, he’s _attempting_ to cook, for being the CEO of one of the world’s largest companies producing environmental friendly equipment doesn’t really require him to be knowledgeable in the kitchens— some soup when his phone rang very loudly from its place on the coffee table. Icy blue eyes gaze toward the direction of where the sound was coming from, the man not bothering to hide his irritation. His phone has been ringing non-stop ever since he called in that he was not going to be present for the next three days in his office.

After all, the well-being of his son will always be placed above his company’s. 

Legolas had told him a week prior that he wanted to make a short trip, insisting that he needs to spend some time alone before taking up a position in his father’s company. He was reluctant to divulge where he would be staying at first, knowing full well that his father will send his people to stay close to his son, but just before he went he left a note on his father’s desk. It led Thranduil to this little cabin in the woods, about twenty to thirty minute drive from the nearest town, his son perhaps choosing it due to the promise of limited interaction with people.

Which isn’t a good thing when one fell terribly ill. Four days after Legolas left, Thranduil heard from him for the first time. Loathe as he is to think about it, he knows of his mask quickly slipping while Alfrid was there as he heard his son croak of how he was doing so far. Thranduil got the idea very quickly that wasn’t very pretty so far, if the coughing and groans were anything to go by, and that very same afternoon found him seated on his private jet heading towards where his son was.

Jolted out of his thoughts by his phone’s ringing, the blond lets out a noise of annoyance. Despite the flames being set to high, Thranduil deems it safe to leave the stove’s warm side for a few minutes. Surely, nothing bad can happen, he thinks to himself as he places the potholder next to the stove and moves toward the living room. A grimace appears on his face upon seeing who was calling before answering the call, brows knitting together at the sound of his secretary’s harried voice. The day has not even reached its peak, and already his secretary is listing off quite a lot of issues that he apparently needs to fix asap.

Delicate fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he says, “Alfrid, I’ve left instructions to Galion about these…issues that you speak of. Surely he must have already taken care of these.” Silence meets his reply, and Thranduil doesn’t hold back the clicking of his tongue before saying, “I suggest that you converse with Galion about this matter.” Not even waiting for his secretary’s response, the man ends the call and throws his phone on the couch, praying to the whoever’s listening that it wouldn’t ring for the umpteenth time. 

It is only then that he becomes aware of the smell of something burning, the man moving quickly toward the kitchen. He couldn’t have been gone for more than five minutes, he tells himself. Just as he’s about to reach the kitchen door, the loud blaring of the fire alarm startles him. Thranduil immediately thinks of how this cabin that they’re currently in is mostly made out of wood, and how fast the fire would spread to other parts of the house, to the living room, up the stairs, to the room where Legolas is currently recuperating—

“Legolas!” Thranduil nearly trips over his own feet as he runs to where his son is, heart pounding in his ears. Logic completely eludes him at the moment, his mind forgetting to tell him to put out the fire instead of leaving it alone to spread. Hell, he didn’t even check if the fire is big enough that he can’t extinguish it by himself!

“Legolas!” he calls out once again as he opens the door to Legolas’ room. His son is still in bed, trying his hardest to push himself up into a sitting position.

“What is it, ada?” Legolas coughs right after asking, his fever making him groan and close his eyes at the fire alarm’s incessant noise. 

“Fire,” Thranduil gasps as he crosses the room in a couple of strides, placing one of Legolas’ arms over his shoulder while he wraps an arm on his son’s waist. They are of nearly the same build, Legolas only a tad shorter than his father, but that didn’t make aiding the younger one to stand on his own feet be any easier. It most certainly doesn’t help that he can see wisps of the dark smoke curling at the ceiling by the doorway.

“Ada, the fire extinguisher,” Legolas mumbles groggily, reminding Thranduil that the medicine that he gave Legolas last night still hasn’t gotten flushed out of his system yet.

Cursing under his breath, Thranduil pulls Legolas flush against him with a grunt, half-dragging his son away from the bed and toward the door. The smoke is slowly getting thicker now, triggering his son’s coughs once more. That combined with the loud noise from the fire alarm is giving Thranduil both a headache and the rush of adrenaline that he sorely needed. His world has closed in on Legolas’ ragged breathing now, Thranduil not even realizing that his breathing is also close to matching his son’s. He has also started coughing by the time they reach the second step down the stairs, his eyes looking up to see glimpses of the fire from the kitchen. 

His mind goes into overdrive then, thoughts of how he should carry his son out to safety as fast as he can replaying over and over again in his mind. To his frustration, his body decides to freeze right then and there, not heeding his mind’s orders. 

As he will ruminate on later, fate isn’t that cruel for the front door swung open. It bangs against the wall, men garbed in telltale yellow suits making a beeline for the kitchen. The hose that they’re carrying is opened immediately, the current strong enough to push the flames back inside the kitchen. One of the firefighters detached from the group and rushed to them. Thranduil quickly handed his son over to him, mouthing, “I’ll be right behind.” With no visible effort, the firefighter lifts Legolas in his arms but doesn’t descend quickly, much to Thranduil’s ire. A gloved hand catches his wrist, the grip around it gentle yet firm, and it is what spurs the blond into action. Soon enough they are being seen to by medics parked outside a few feet from the cabin, the firefighters still inside trying to extinguish the fire before it spread even further. 

He waves off the medics once they’ve finished doing the most basic of checkups, freeing himself from their fussing in favor of standing close to his son. Legolas is half-awake now, a pale hand coming up to shield his eyes from the brightness of the sun. Every now and then the blond would let out soft whines, something that Thranduil realizes he sorely missed. It’s only unfortunate that he gets this rare chance to see a brief glimpse of his son during a fire. 

A tap on his shoulder breaks him out of his reverie, Thranduil turning to the person with his irate expression in place. Only that it falters a bit— just a tiny bit— upon seeing the man’s grin. The mask had been put to the side of the fire truck; now Thranduil has a clear view of the man’s ruggedly…personable face, framed by shoulder-length, dark hair peppered in with grey strands. He has no doubt that this was the one who carried Legolas earlier (and partially Thranduil, too, but no one needs to know that tidbit) judging from the man’s broad shoulders. 

“We’ve managed to put out the fire, sir, and my men are in the process of checking every room for your belongings,” he tells the CEO as he takes off one glove, offering large, tanned hand toward Thranduil. “Name’s Bard, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Thranduil says at first, eyes darting back and forth between Bard and his outstretched hand. He clasps it a second later, adding, “Thranduil. And this is my son—“

“Legolas,” Bard finishes for him, making Thranduil’s eyebrows rise. “He’s a frequent tenant of this cabin. Says that it helps him clear his mind.”

“I see.”

“Which is why I’m _mighty_ curious as to how the fire came about.” Thranduil starts to feel heat rise up his neck and cheeks, not being helped at all by Bard’s cheeky grin. “The kid knows how to operate the stove even when he’s half-asleep. Though I don’t suppose he was anywhere near the stove this morning, no?”

Thranduil draws up to his full height, then, staring down at Bard like how he usually does. “This is no way to talk to a CE—“

His words immediately meet a swift death in his throat when Bard closes in, eyes slightly narrowed and grin absent. The blond had a good few inches over this man, yet he fights _hard_ not to cower when Bard speaks.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t be too happy if word gets out that the leader of a globally renowned company nearly set death upon himself and his heir with the aid of a stove.” Bard’s voice is low and quiet, and it most certainly does _not_ make Thranduil want to shiver.

Why does this have to happen right after a _fire_ of all times? Perhaps his adrenaline from before is trying to find an alternative way to expend itself.

Bard’s eyes searches his for an answer to a question that Thranduil isn’t privy to. He must have found it a minute later, for his grin is returning and he’s taking a step back. “Don’t worry about the press. Nothing exciting truly happens here so none of those nosy chumps stick around here.” 

And before Thranduil can even reply, the man is walking back to the now ruined cabin. Another firefighter is on Bard’s side within a second, no doubt to give him a rundown of what they’ve done so far. 

“Ada.”

Thranduil turns to his son, bending so that he may hear him clearer. “What is it?” he prompts.

“Stay,” is the only word Legolas manages to whisper before falling back to sleep once more. His father regards his sleeping face for a moment, thoughts of how slow recovery usually comes to Legolas whenever he does fall ill plaguing his mind. From here to the town, it is a half an hour drive at most, and from there they still have to go through nearly eight hours of driving before reaching the nearest small airport. Thranduil isn’t sure that he has the heart to put Legolas through so much discomfort, despite knowing that Thranduil will be able to take care of his son better in their own home.

“Where would you like for your things to be taken, sir?” It’s the man who talked to Bard earlier. He points a thumb to where two suitcases and a knapsack are gathered. “We’ve checked all the rooms ‘cept for the kitchen. Hopefully you had nothing of importance in there?”

Thranduil shakes his head. “Thank you for your efforts,” he tells the man, holding off on his answer for the first question at the moment. They knew no one around these parts— well, _he_ didn’t know anyone. Legolas probably did— and he felt rather hopeless at the moment, what with his adrenaline finally wearing off to give way to weariness and being completely out of his element.

Sensing his dilemma, the man says, “We have a small inn, ran by a kind old lady. Not a lot of tourists come by this part of the year, so she’ll have rooms available.”

As if on cue, Bard exits the house at that moment and shouts, “I’ve already called Gertrude. She says she’s got the rooms ready!” It doesn’t take long for him to be standing in front of Thranduil again, the same hand that Thranduil shook before now offering him his mobile phone. “Nearly missed this.”

Thranduil accepts his phone with a mutter of thanks, somehow pulling an amused chuckle from Bard. 

“Best be going then. They’ll drive you back to the town.” Bard salutes at the driver of the ambulance. When he sees Thranduil still looking at him, his smile shifts into a gentler one. “Go get some rest,” he tells Thranduil before herding him inside the ambulance. A second later their bags are crammed inside, too, Bard calling out to their driver that they’re ready to go.

“Thank you again,” Thranduil says once more just before Bard closes the door of the ambulance. It makes the man pause, then his eyes are crinkling at the sides as he smiles.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be seeing you later.” 

And with that the door closes and Thranduil is left to stare at the white metal, mind desperately trying to make him understand what just happened in the last hour or so. 


End file.
